Turnabout, My Love
by Hollyquin
Summary: "No...it can't be suicide. I don't...I don't believe it. Somebody murdered him. I...please. You have to help." Sometimes a crime hits a little too close to home. Implied Ema x Klavier.


Holly: WHAT? FANFICTION? WRITING IT? Oh yeah, that's a thing I do. Righto.

Near: Miss us? :D

Holly: Who're you again?

Near: ;w;

Holly: Yeah so I'M BACK YO. DIDJA MISS ME. Probably not. Too bad so sad.

L: And that attitude is why no one likes you.

Holly: SHUT UP NEAR.

Near: THAT WASN'T EVEN ME!

Holly: Whatever. I've actually been gearing up for this one for a pretty long time. So it should be good. This is just a prelude, WHICH IS WHY IT'S SHORT, so yeah. Enjoy. :3

WARNING TO FANGIRLS: By reading this fanfic, you are agreeing _not_ to stab me in the chest. Or anywhere else for that matter. Or shoot me. Or light me on fire. Um…don't hurt me, kay?

* * *

Applause echoed through the hallway.

She stood there, bored, the loud _CRUNCH_ sounds that would have otherwise echoed through the hall blocked out by the cheers. The set was almost over, she reasoned. It had been…approximately _forever_ since they'd started- this was _not_ her kind of music, and listening to it was grating on her last nerve. Hell, the _name_ of the place got on her last nerve. Bloody _Sunshine Coliseum_. Who thought that was a good name? It boggled her mind.

In reality, it had been approximately one hour since the first act had gone on. What were they called again? _Mad Love? _Real cute. It was a wonder that they'd been picked as the opening band on this particular tour. It was a BIG deal in the music world. The biggest, in fact. There was a huge hullabaloo over who the opener would be, and this…_travesty_ of a band had ended up as 'it' all because the guitarist had an 'in' or something.

She shook her head. _The music industry…nothing like it_.

She should know. After all, she was a guitarist now! THE guitarist for THE biggest band in the country! Well, at least she was for now- this was a reunion tour (not much of a reunion- they'd stopped playing for what, a year?) and was expected to be the real last. But down a guitarist as they were, they needed a replacement. And that's why she was here. Well, she definitely fit the theme.

She was also here for the first security shift.

_Déjà vu, much?_

Mad Love started filing backstage. They were a pretty, overglammed group of teenagers. No real unifying motif that she could see either- the guitarist and the singer looked like gender flipped versions of each other, all black and blue hair and skin tight clothes, but the bassist and the drummer- blonde and effeminate and dark and intimidating, respectively- looked totally out of place with them. If she hadn't known any better she would have kicked them out- _random glimmerous children are not allowed back here_- but she ignored them as they filed back into their dressing rooms.

It was time to- she winced to herself for even thinking this- rock.

There would be a fifteen minute intermission between the two acts, but they absolutely had to be ready before then. No excuses. She knocked on the door of the room shared by their bassist, drummer and keyboardist- whose names, somehow, she still didn't remember (they weren't very interesting anyway, she reasoned). She opened the door after receiving an okay from inside and saw that the trio were pretty much already ready- dressed, made up and within arm's reach of their instruments.

Well, she'd expected that. They were _normal_. It was the singer she worried about.

She moved down the hall past her own room to his, standing hesitatingly outside his door. She knocked lightly, not really expecting a response. He was most likely asleep, all things considered- he hadn't been feeling well earlier, anyway. She knocked louder this time. Again, no response.

_That idiot…if we're late on stage because of him…_

She opened the door. If he was undressed, he'd have to deal.

Nothing she hadn't seen before, anyway.

"Hey! You there? We're on in-"

She stopped dead.

He lay on the couch- a recent purchase of his, it was covered in purple velvet and it went with him wherever he went. His eyes were closed. So he was asleep, after all.

But something was…off. His position. It didn't look…comfortable. It looked wrong, somehow. …And what was he holding?

Her instincts knew what was wrong even if her conscious mind didn't yet. She approached, slowly.

Pale. Why was he pale? He was never pale.

This is wrong. _This is wrong. No. _

_This…no. It can't…_

She saw it, then.

The blood. Not a wound on him, no. Not that kind of blood. It left a stained trail from his mouth- it was dry- it made its way down his chin-

He was so pale-

_No-_

_Please, no, not this-_

She held herself together even as her mind didn't. She walked slowly towards him. Not thinking. Not noticing anything.

Her detective instincts, her forensic scientist instincts, none of that mattered right now.

This was just called _being in love_.

She didn't touch him. She didn't have to check his pulse. Sometimes, you just _knew_.

She took the piece of paper stuffed in his cold, pale hand.

One line only, and a signature.

"_Atroquinine, my love."_

The pin dropped.

She screamed.

* * *

They had to drag Ema Skye from the scene. Her bandmates found her, and after doing a little freaking out of their own, they managed to call the police, who arrived promptly. They had all left the room- after all, they knew better to mess with a crime scene. All except Ema. She wouldn't move.

"NO! He's NOT dead! I r-refuse to believe it! He wouldn't do this! HE WOULD NEVER DO THIS! What are you doing? Let GO of me! N-NO! PLEASE! He can't be…no! NO!"

There was no sign of a struggle.

The only evidence immediately recovered was the note.

The police suspected suicide.

"_He wouldn't do this! HE WOULD NEVER DO THIS!"_

Suspected cause of death? Acute atroquinine poisoning. But that would have to wait for the autopsy.

Meanwhile, in the stadium, a voice over the intercom told everyone that the concert was canceled, they should all leave, they would receive a refund, all that standard jazz. There was booing in the stands, there was much complaining, but Gavinners fans weren't hardcore. They didn't rip apart the stadium. They didn't light anything on fire. They simply left, annoyed, disappointed and confused.

It wouldn't be until they got home that they'd learn the truth on the ten o' clock news.

Klavier Gavin was dead.

* * *

Holly: You see that warning I gave fangirls up there? That means you can't hurt me. R&R or…um…I'll do something bad to Mello.

Mello: WHY ME?

Holly: You look like you deserve it.

Mello: …T_T


End file.
